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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Mais si," said Jeanne, catching at the last English word. "It interests me greatly." "Merci, mademoiselle," said Phineas grandly. "I only wish to explain to you that while I live you need have no fear for Doggie. I will protect him with my body from shells and promise to bring him safe back to you. And so will Monsieur Shendish." "What's that?" asked Mo. Phineas translated.
And when the A.P.M. and his satellites passed by, the quiet of The Whip in Hand was the holy peace of a nunnery. Doggie and Mo Shendish and a few other staunch souls got McPhail back to quarters without much trouble. On parting, the delinquent, semi-sobered, shook Doggie by the hand and smiled with an air of great affection. "I've been verra drunk, laddie.
It touched the shades of gold in her dark brown hair, and lit up her pale face and great unsmiling eyes. But her lips smiled valiantly. "What do yer think, Mac," said Mo Shendish, squatting on the flagstones, "do you think she was really sweet on him?" "Man," replied Phineas, similarly engaged, "all I know is that she has added him to her collection of ghosts.
He was finally aroused by Phineas and Mo Shendish, who, having slept like tired dogs some distance off down the barn, now desired his company for a stroll round the village. Doggie good-naturedly assented. As they passed the house door he cast a quick glance. It was open, but the slim figure in black with the blue apron was not visible within.
He paused for a moment or two. "Man," he continued, "what an awful waste of money!" "I don't know what old Mac is jawing about," said Mo Shendish, "but you can take it from me he's a holy terror with the bayonet. One moment he's talking to a Boche through his hat and the next the Boche is wriggling like a worm on a bent pin." Mo winked at Phineas.
Mo Shendish, helmeted, browned, dried, toughened, a very different Mo from the pallid ferret whom Aggie had driven into the ranks of war, hunched himself up, his hands clasping his knees. "I don't mind doing it, when you're so excited you don't know where you are," said he, "but I don't like thinking of it afterwards."
McPhail and Mo Shendish being among the sleepers, Doggie mooned about by himself in his usual self-effacing way. There was little to interest him in the long straggling village. He had passed through a hundred such.
"Fair hair and blue eyes," said Shendish. The kindly question, half idle yet unconsciously tactful, was one of those human things which cost so little but are worth so much. It gave Doggie a devoted friend. "Mo," said he, a day or two later, "you're such a decent chap. Why do you use such abominable language?" "Gawd knows," smiled Mo, unabashed. "I suppose it's friendly like."
To-day her office was usurped by a hefty cook with the sleeves of his grey shirt rolled up and his collar open and vast and tight-hitched braces unromantically strapped all over him. Doggie felt a pang of disappointment and abused the tea. Mo Shendish stared, and asked what was wrong with it. "Rotten," said Doggie. "You can't expect yer slap-up City A.B.C. shops in France," said Mo.
Then suddenly came the news of a large draft for France, which included both McPhail and Shendish. They went away on leave. The gladness with which he welcomed their return showed Doggie how great a part they played in his new life. In a day or two they would depart God knew whither, and he would be left in dreadful loneliness.
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